


Therapy

by madlyhazel



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Cunnilingus, F/M, Making Love, Reader-Insert, Sweet Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-14
Updated: 2015-06-14
Packaged: 2018-04-04 04:36:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4125696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madlyhazel/pseuds/madlyhazel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky finds his way to your apartment and tells you that he needs to feel human again. And pep talks only get so far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Therapy

You flip off the water and open the shower door, feeling the heat immediately escape the stall. Steam pooled out in front of you as you pawed around for a towel. You soon latched onto one and pulled it off the rack, and you began to wipe yourself down with it. The water droplets were absorbed quickly, and after tousling your hair a bit with the towel, you wrapped it around yourself and headed out of the bathroom.

The trip to your room was a short one, considering it was only one door down. You tossed the towel off in the general direction of your hamper and began to scrounge up some clothes from the dresser. Undergarments, an over-sized t-shirt with an obscure sports team that you didn’t really care for (the shirt had been courtesy of a friend who had been excited to take you to one of their games), and shorts that went about mid-thigh. It was a Saturday, so there was absolutely no reason to dress up. You didn’t plan to head out, after all.

You set back your still-damp hair in order to keep it from your eyes and exited the room. It might have been only a bit before noon, and you may have woken up late, but you were completely ready to have breakfast. You were certain you had pancake mix somewhere, and the time wasn’t going to keep you from having some of the fluffy discs. Your padded down the hard-wood floors that lined the hallway and stepped into the carpeted living room adjacent to the kitchen. You were just about to turn under the arch into the kitchen when something caught your eye.

You twisted fast and your heart went into your throat. Your stomach tightened and the hair on your arm rose as the _man_ in your living room blinked at you. The two of you stared at each other for several seconds, your mind racing wildly. You let out a shaky breath, your hands trying to unclench

“Jesus Christ, Barnes. You need to give a woman some warning before barging in. How the hell did you get in here?”

You didn’t exactly remember giving him a key, and the door wasn’t broken down. Wasn’t he supposed to be at Stark Tower, anyways? You might have worked with him a bit and befriended (you think) him, but the last thing you expected was him sitting casually on your beat-up futon, watching you with a fairly blank look.

“Window was open,” he murmured.

You let out a groan, one hand making its way to the bridge of your nose and pinching it. “That doesn’t mean you come in through it. Did you climb up? Christ.”

Waving your hand as if dismissing the whole thought together, you walked toward him. His eyes simply followed you, and your own began to take note of him. His hair was a bit more tousled than usual, as if he’d forgotten to comb it or wash it for a day or two, and the stubble on his jaw was a little bit thicker than usual. His whole face seemed tired, and he seemed small under the large black hoodie he wore. Well, perhaps _small_ wasn’t the right word, but he clearly wasn’t fitting that article of clothing.

He seemed to register that you were checking on him, and his eyes slowly flitted from you. Instead, they went down to his hands, were he began to gently ring them together. His left hand was gloved, and you wondered briefly how he wasn’t dying underneath all those layers, all that black. You understood that he preferred to conceal himself, but it wasn’t exactly freezing right now. It was in the eighties as least, and he was probably uncomfortable.

You offer him a small smile. “Would you like some pancakes?”

After several moments, he gives a small grunt. You take this as an affirmative and make your way to the kitchen, glad that he wanted to eat. Of course, you would’ve made them regardless, but you felt a little bit better knowing that he’d eat with you. You began to pull out everything you needed and got to work, mixing up the batter and pouring it onto the electric skillet. You heard the soft thump of boots behind you, and you registered that Bucky had entered the room. Perhaps he wanted to see what you were up to.

The two of you stood in silence, the only real sound being the occasional sizzle as fresh batter hit the skillet. He moved around every now and again, looking at various things around the kitchen, and once peeking over your shoulder to gaze down at the skillet. When he did this, you could hear him inhale deeply, taking in the scent of the cooking pancakes. He moved away from you, his shoulder lightly brushing yours as he did. You soon set up two plates along with silverware, somehow managed to balance a bottle of syrup on top of the array, and flipped off the skillet. You led him into the living room and placed the plates on the coffee table.

You plopped down next to one another, and he leaned against the armrest, offering you as much space as possible. You held out the bottle of syrup toward him, but he offered a shake of his head. You didn’t stray from the sugary liquid however, and poured a generous amount onto the pancakes. You began eating, the clicking of forks and knives against the plates resonating through the room. You were quite content with this silence, considering it wasn’t exactly easy to talk with food in your mouth. You took note of how Bucky was eating slowly, cutting out small sections and eating them carefully.

Suddenly, you seemed to be reminded of something. You stood up and let Bucky know you’d be right back. You headed off to your room and returned shortly with phone in hand. You showed it to him. “Do you mind if I let Tony Stark know that you’re here? That way he doesn’t go sending agents after you.”

He watched you for several moments, before a slight bob of his head gave you an affirmative. After another set of seconds, he added, “He doesn’t care anyways.”

A small glare from you shut him up, and you sent a quick text,

_Barnes is with me. He’s fine, and I should have him back soon._

_-Agent (L/N)_

You set your phone onto the coffee table and plopped back down, the futon sinking right underneath you. It was high time to get something new, because this one had no bounce left to it. You doubted that the springs were even intact anymore, considering they’d stopped squeaking a long time ago. You got back to finishing the last of your brunch and leaned back with a satisfied sigh.

Your head turned to Bucky, who was gently cutting off another section of his pancake. He awkwardly held the knife and fork, as if he wasn’t used to using them for such menial actions. His left hand barely gripped the fork, perhaps nervous that the metal would crush it. Thus, the cutting took quite a bit of time, even for such a soft material.

“Why did you leave the Tower?”

He paused for a moment before setting the two utensils down. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his right hand reaching over to pick at the fabric that covered his metal arm.

“Didn’t feel like being there,” he muttered, “Too cramped.”

“And why did you break into my apartment?”

“I didn’t _break in_ ,” he quickly interjected, offering you a miffed look. You simply quirked an eyebrow, and he turned his face from you once more. He gave a small roll of his shoulders, eyes turning up to the ceiling.

“This seems like the safest place to go.”

You were briefly surprised, not entirely expecting Bucky to feel safe in your apartment. Then again, you’d been helping him quite a bit, partnering up with him on missions that S.H.I.E.L.D. had sent him on. He’d been around you so often that it was likely that he was comfortable with you, and that he trusted you in giving him a safe place to stay for a while. You gave a small hum of understanding.

A stiff silence soon fell over the two of you, and you quirked your lip to the side as you attempted to figure out some way of continuing the conversation. However, before your mind could begin to process any sort of way of saying something other than ‘how’s the weather,’ Bucky interrupted your thoughts.

“I’m sorry.”

You gave an incredulous scoff. “For what?”

His blue eyes avoided your own, and instead stared down at the couch that separated the miles between you. “For imposing. For coming here.”

You shook your head. “It’s completely fine. I understand that you didn’t want to be at the Tower.”

“It’s not that,” he sighed.

Your brows briefly furrowed, and you took this time to study his expression. His jaw was tight and his eyebrows were curved down, as if he was frustrated. His hand was now pulling harder at the hoodie, to the point where it was rumpling the fabric. You slowly reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder, begging him to elaborate. He merely flinched.

“Bucky,” you began, and his eyes flicked to your face, “What’s going on?”

He pressed further into the arm of the futon, and his leg began to nervously bounce. You lightly gripped his shoulder and your thumb began to run circle on it, trying to soothe him. His eyes crinkled in the corner.

“I’m _sorry_.”

“I understand that, Bucky, but-“

“You don’t,” he hissed, causing your hand to retract from him in surprise. He more fully turned toward you. “You shouldn’t have to deal with me, and I shouldn’t have come here.”

He released a shaky breath, his right hand finally letting go of his jacket in order to run up through his hair. “I don’t need to be here. I broke in here, and now I’m taking your time away. Christ, (Y/N), I could possibly hurt you, and you’re not even taking in that possibility-“

“Bucky!” you cry, causing him to stop. He watches you with wide eyes, his breaths ragged. You reach across him and to his opposing arm, his metal one. He briefly resists, but you forcefully draw it toward you, forcing him to shift toward you as you set his hand in your lap, palm-side up. He stares at you as you slowly pull the glove off, revealing gleaming metal beneath it. You gently press two thumbs into his palm, and his fingers twitch.

“Bucky,” you state again, “You don’t even realize how far you’ve come. You’re making yourself out to be such a monster, but you’re letting me touch you. You could kill me, and you could hurt me, but you haven’t. And you know what that means to me, right?”

You look up at him, and his blue eyes are staring right back at you. His mouth is slightly parted, and he looks completely taken aback. You smile softly at him.

“It means you’re a good man.”

You slowly rub the metal palm, and thought it does not give, you know that he can feel the pressure. You do this for several minutes, rubbing his palm, then flipping over his hand so you can massage the top. Near the end, you bring up his hand to your face and lightly kiss his fingertips. You can hear him lightly sigh at the contact, and when you look up, he has closed his eyes.

You slowly let his hand fall from your grasp, and it simply lies in your lap. His eyes slowly peel open, and he gazes down at his metal hand, as if it’s completely detached from him. He briefly flexes it, confirming that it is indeed his own, before slowly drawing it back to his body.

“And for the love of God, get out of that hoodie. You’re making me sweat from just looking at it.”

He seems nervous about this sudden order, but nonetheless reaches for the hem of his jacket. He effortlessly pulls it over his head, and the grey t-shirt that he wears beneath it briefly rides up. He sets the jacket on the armrest before pulling down his shirt. You can now see his full metal arm, down to the bright red star that decorates its bicep.

You see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, perhaps from his anxiety or just the fact that his throat is dry. For a moment, you see a look cross his face, as if he’s finally registering something. In a split second, he leans toward you, and you find yourself pressing against the arm rest. He can’t be more than inches from you, and his right arm settles next to your shoulder in order to prop himself up.

“You’re good to me, (Y/N), and I wish I could do the same for you. It isn’t much, but can I kiss you?”

You hear yourself distantly give a small gasp, and you wonder where this sudden bravery is coming from. Then again, he used to be a soldier, therefore it should really be no surprise. His polite tone has you sinking into the armrest, and you give a subtle nod. He nonetheless notices and leans down. A brief moment of hesitation seems to come across his as he pauses a mere inch from your lips, but he soon pushes it away. Your lips come into contact with his, and you swear that you’ve never felt something so damn _perfect_.

His nose lightly bumps against yours as he turns his head, and you give a breathless giggle. You feel him smirk against your lips as he begins to give a deeper kiss. He settles down onto his elbow and his hand reaches around to cup your head, fingers threading into your hair. He is gentle, surprisingly so, and you briefly wish that he would just be a little more rough. You emphasize this point with your own lips, and you can feel his smile widen as his lips tighten. After a few sloppy moments, he pulls back, blue eyes gazing down softly at you.

“You deserve better than this, I know. I wish-“

“Just fucking kiss me, Barnes,” you rumble, hands curling up around his neck and tugging him down.

Something akin to ‘ _yes ma’am’_ leaves his lips before they hopelessly come back into contact with your own. These kisses are much stronger than the last, and perhaps a bit more unruly as well. Nonetheless, you find yourself falling deeply in love with each one, and past the original clumsiness of noses bumping and foreheads butting, you discover that Bucky is _very_ good at what he’s doing.

His metal arm curls underneath your back and hikes you up. Your lips briefly lose contact as he settles you down into his lap as he pulls the both of you into a sitting position. He has a goofy smile on his face, and it makes him look so handsome. He leans forward again, but instead of heading for your lips, he nuzzles into your neck, placing chaste kisses down on the soft skin. His stubble gingerly grazes you, and you can’t help but giggle at the tickling feeling. He deviously rubs his chin in the crook of your neck, and you give a squeal.

“Bucky!” you whine, hands reaching to lightly tug at the ends of his hair. He gives a quiet chuckle before returning to kissing your neck, deciding that tickling you can be saved for another time. Your hands begin to roam up and down his back, and they eventually slip underneath his shirt in order to feel the bare skin. He shudders briefly, pulling back from your neck to look at you.

“Careful, doll,” he breaths, voice low and oh so _sexy_ , “I am trying to hold back.”

“Don’t. For the love of God _don’t_.”

He quirks an amused eyebrow before ducking his head back down. He shifts most of your weight to his left arm and brings around his right. It slips underneath the front of your shirt, trailing up your stomach. His warm fingertips trace underneath your breasts, and you feel him groan into your neck. He must be glad that you’re not wearing a bra, and so are you. It would have just gotten in the way of things, and everything would have taken that much longer.

His hand draws away and out of your shirt, causing you to whine. However, he is moving underneath you and you find in seconds that there in nothing underneath you. You cling to him desperately, legs wrapping around his waist and hands gripping him perhaps a little too hard.

He eases your worries. “I have you. Where’s the bedroom?”

You relax, but still continue to grip at him. “Down the hall, second door on the right.”

He follows your orders, and you take this time to begin kissing at him. It’s a little difficult, with all this movement, but you’re able to kiss his neck and jaw, and his groan above you signals that he’s quite happy with your actions.

You find yourself being dropped onto the bed, and you lightly bounce up. Bucky is crawling back over you in a matter of seconds, hand trailing back to your shirt and lifting it up. You sit up and raise your arms above your head in order to help him, and soon your shirt has been tossed off to some remote corner of the room. You could hardly care less, considering that Bucky is now pushing you back down and settling to placing his mouth on one of your nipples.

Your back arches into his mouth and your fingers twist into his hair. As his mouth nips softly at the bud and his tongue swirls around it in a soothing motion, his left hand reaches up to pay attention to the other one. You flinch as the cool metal traces up toward your breast, but once his fingers find your nipple, you could care less about how cold they are. Your hands run up and down his back, soon gripping his own shirt and tugging at it. He briefly leans off of you so you can remove it, then he’s right back to his duty.

You feel all along his warm skin, tracing over muscles and scars, feeling the curve of his spine and the rising and falling of his back as he breathes heavily. Your hand lingers on a puckered scar on his lower right back, and it feels like a bullet hole. Another scar is higher up and rises up in all sort of odd places. Each one of these scars hold no doubt a story, and yet they are all so beautiful. They are so extremely and very much _him_.

You now go for the front of him, but instead of touching every inch of skin you can reach, you lightly push at his chest. He pulls back and looks down at you, and you can tell just by his expression that he’s wondering if he’s done something wrong.

“Lay on your back,” you ask. He watches you for several moments, and you understand that he’s deciding whether or not to give up his dominance. You soon make the decision for him, and by flexing your arms and legs and giving a strong push, you flip him over. He’s clearly surprised, but you give him no time to react as you sink off of the bed.

He leans up on his elbows, eyes catching you as you disappear over the side of your bed. You settle onto your knees and crook a finger at him, beckoning and begging for him to come closer. He gives a small snort and shuffles to where his legs are hanging off of the bed. You reach for the button of his jeans, flicking it open and pulling down his zipper.

As he lifts himself from the bed in order to help you pull both his pants and boxers down, he speaks, “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

“Don’t order me around,” you tease, hand reaching for him. He’s half-hard, but as your hand curls around his base, you feel him tighten. He throws his head back, hands balling up the sheets.

“Fffuuuuccckkk,” he hisses through his teeth, and you give a smirk. You briefly pull back your hand in order to wet your palm, and when you return, you begin to slowly stroke up and down. Your other hand splays across his thigh, and you can feel the muscles clenching as he tries to reign some sort of control over himself. But you don’t want control, not at all. And thus, your head delves down, tongue giving a quick swipe up his slit.

He jumps, a guttural cry leaving his throat. His eyes peel open to gaze down at you, but he soon as to shut them again as your mouth wraps around his tip. Your tongue swirls around before you begin to sink down, taking him until he hits the back of your throat. You begin to find a rhythm that’s slow and deep, and your hand twirls around his base all the while. He can do no more than grit his teeth and try to not buck his hips. He doesn’t want to hurt you, but this feels so damn _good_.

You continue for quite some time, and your jaw is sore and your lips feel numb, but you can feel just how much you are enjoying this, how much _he_ is enjoying this. You only stop when a shaky hand grips your hair, lightly tugging in order to bring you up.

“(Y/N),” he groans, and you pop off of him in order to stare into his eyes. He moans, trying to find his words before he loses himself, “Not yet. Just let me… Let me.”

You smile at his inability to form any real sentence and soon rise up. You grasp his shoulders and toss him back, climbing over him. You balance yourself above his stomach, and your hands gently stroke his chest. His brown hair splays messily against the sheets, and his hands settle onto your hips.

“You’re beautiful, but-“ And he’s flipping you over, setting you onto your back with a surprising cry, “I like you this way better.”

He grins wildly at you before shifting down, large hands dipping into the hem of your shorts and whipping them down your legs, panties going off with them. You takes another minute to untie his boots and kick them away, and in a fluid movement, the rest of his clothing is gone with them. He leans on his elbows, arms forming a cage around your head. He gives a chaste kiss to your lips.

“You _are_ beautiful,” he breathes, sparing a tender moment amidst all the sensuality, “So beautiful. How is it that I managed to meet you?”

“You broke the nose of the agent who was helping you before me and he resigned.”

He shrugged. “Details.”

You gave a small chuckle and kissed him, teeth barely nipping his lower lip. He settled into this with you, allowing your lips and tongues to shyly dance, like newlyweds in the night. He allowed you to take a bit of a dominant side, but he always put you back down with a small bite before you could get too out of hand. Soon he was sitting up, and a hand trailed slowly down to your lower lips. You both sighed as he came in contact with them, slowly rubbing up and down.

His blue eyes stared down at you, and a devilish look came over his face. Voice low and husky, he whispered, “I’d love to taste you.”

He didn’t go down to the floor like you had before. No, instead he hauled your legs up to hook on his shoulders, and he _dragged_ you until his face was very, very close. You felt your face flush both from the sudden headrush and embarrassment, and your legs crossed over his back. When he brought his mouth down to you, you gave a strangled gasp and grasped wildly at the sheets.

Sometimes you lose complete sense of where his mouth is, and at others, you can fully feel him. He gives long licks and often sucks at your clit, and every now and again his tongue dips inside your slit. You coarse a hand back through your hand and grip harshly, trying to gain some semblance of control over yourself. He’s too damn good at everything he does, and you briefly wonder where the hell he’s managed to learn all this.

Perhaps before he was the Winter Soldier, before the war. With the looks he had, he no doubt attracted women. It would make sense, considering he was giving you a type of pleasure that was indescribable between the stubble that grazed your thighs and the tongue that wickedly twisted over you. Either way, you couldn’t bring yourself to think much more, because by now thinking was requiring too much energy.

He soon lifted you from him by grasping your buttocks, and he unceremoniously dropped you back down. As you recovered, he reached up his right hand to wipe his lips. He quirked an eyebrow down at you as you let out a shaky breath.

“Remind me to have you give me the full treatment of whatever the hell that was,” you breathed.

He gave a small chuckle. “Will do, doll.”

You slowly shifted up and reached for the nightstand, digging inside. You pulled out a bottle of lube and a condom, and set to work and opening both. However, before you could reach the condom, he grasped your wrist.

“Don’t need that,” he stated, but it was evident he felt a bit uncomfortable with saying it.

You gave him a strange look. “You know what unprotected sex does-“

“Can’t have kids,” he simply stated, “Their serum fucked that up for me. They told me so.”

You paused briefly, eyes looking over his face for some kind of reaction. He looked sad for a moment, but he tried to offer you a little smile. You set the condom on top of the nightstand and instead focused on the lube. You put a generous amount in your hands and began to rub it on his cock. He sighed softly, head slightly tilting back as the cool liquid came in contact with him.

You rubbed the remainder on yourself before closing the bottle and setting it next to the condom. You shifted up onto the pillows, settling to where your shoulders were supported by them. He moved toward you, leaning down place a light kiss on your forehead. The tender action had you smiling, and after wiping your hand on the sheets, you reached for him. Your hands curled around his neck, and your thighs gripped his sides.

He lined up at your entrance and began to slowly push in, and you briefly tensed at the intrusion. However, he went slowly, going until he hilted himself within you. He paused, allowing you to adjust, and he took this time to stare at you with a surprisingly serious look.

“If I hurt you, please let me know. Please.”

You gave a small nod. He smiled softly and began to move back. His first few thrusts were tentative, trying to avoid injuring you in any way. However, when your heels dug into his buttocks, forcing him forward, he began to move a bit faster. You both fell into a steady rhythm, and you felt as if you were at home.

He was grunting with each thrust, and every now and again he would shudder deeply. His hair swung with him, and he rarely looked away from you. He found another part of you to look at constantly, and you felt like something truly beautiful under his stare. He kissed your neck, your cheeks, your forehead, your lips, and he muttered incoherent and sweet nothings about you. Sweat glistened on his face, as did your own, and when you kissed his jaw, you could taste the salt.

His hand reached down to grip your hip and he went for deeper thrusts, focusing on your pleasure. You drew out a long groan, head tossing back. He took this moment to suck on your neck, leaving bright red marks in his wake. One hand wound into his hair while the other scratched red trails down his back. He hissed at a particularly hard scratch and gave a firm buck in return. You gasped loudly and arched your back.

When you opened your eyes, your eyes met with his. The two of your simply stared at one another, and suddenly you weren’t in your bedroom. You were with him, as he was with you, and there was nothing else that had felt so _right_ , so _perfect_. Even as his pace increased and his moans grew louder, you couldn’t possibly break yourself from the piece of heaven you were experiencing. You merely held onto him tighter and burrowed your face into his shoulder, breathing him in. He pulled you close, giving a few hard thrusts before he came undone.

However long it took for the two of you to fall back to earth, you didn’t know. The two of you merely cradled one another, and he seemed to forget about his arm completely. It encased your back, and you felt entirely safe. He grew soft and gingerly pulled out, and you felt the remains of his release slowly pool out onto the sheets. That would be dealt with later, because as he fell next to you and pulled you close, it was back to the two of you.

He nuzzled into your hair, placing gentle kisses and murmuring musings of just how beautiful you were. You gave a small giggle, and he pulled back to look down at you.

“What is it?” he whispered, his flesh hand stroking the back of your head. His leg wound over yours, hooking into your knee and tugging you closer.

“You’re a good man.”

He smiled and let his head fall down onto the pillow. The two of you were practically cross-eyed as you stared at one another.

“I want to be a better man. For you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't felt like writing for my fic Hydrargyrum, and I've been wanting to write for my favorite character. I hope you enjoyed this self-indulgent piece!
> 
> Also sweet Bucky is my weakness. Please smile more you sad baby.
> 
> Mixes listened to while writing (all on 8tracks):  
> the price of freedom is high by deduce  
> he is a ghost story by ridikullus  
> weapon by yakovbarnes  
> targets change by Praetor Reyna  
> That's What I'm Not by fluffybucky


End file.
